Stained Pages
by Ai Li
Summary: A history of Schwartz, from the eyes of all four members. Yaoi. Action. Humour. Angst. Latest Update: Ch. 1
1. Default Chapter

Disclaimer: Weiss Kreuz is the sole property of Project Weiss and (Tsuchiya?) Kyoko. All names and referrals to past episodes mentioned in this fanfiction are copyright the production. Any original characters and events are the property of the author.  
  
Stained Pages Chapter 1- Prologue Ai Li  
  
  
  
The sound of water was driving him crazy. Drip drip drip, it fell. The fountain next to him was leaking.  
  
Somewhere in the building, a man coughed.  
  
The sound was too scratchy.  
  
The air conditioner gave a great bang and startled him. He sat up straight and glared as the machine settled into a rhythmic hum.  
  
The noise would kill him.  
  
He could feel it now, insanity creeping into his mind while the small room chirped and thrummed around him. How could people live with such infuriating sound? It was all so.normal. So drab and dreary, the sameness was.  
  
And the walls. Muted gray with darker colours running in up-and-down stripes to form a very businesslike, formal wallpaper. Stripped of life. Schuldich desperately longed for vibrant hues and leather couches with loud, pulsing music in the background. As it was, his head was the only thing pulsing here, throbbing with a headache born of too many hours sitting and extreme boredom.  
  
He leaned back in the rigid plastic chair, wincing as he stretched his arms and felt tired muscles protest the movement. God, how long had he been in this stupid office? He raised his arm as if meaning to check a watch, but then he remembered he had lost his in the nightclub last night.  
  
The man coughed again.  
  
What was left of his patience snapped in a sudden burst of energy and Schuldich stood to his full height of just under six feet. Angrily, he kicked over the chair before delivering a swift knock to the water fountain with his elbow. The window behind him was obviously not meant to be open, but Schuldich was too hot and annoyed to care. He yanked off the lock and shoved the bar upwards, sticking his head out and taking deep breaths of real air. The city was so small beneath him, and he yearned to be out among the busy throng of people on their lunch break, impatient like he was and full of nasty thoughts about their employers.  
  
He could feel several someones approaching the office, two eager little minds and one smooth wall of blankness. Crawford and Haori-san, but who was the third man? Schuldich closed the window and set the chair upright, sighing as the last traces of oxygen disappeared and he was once more caught in the net of industrial life.  
  
The door opened and one of Crawford's polished black shoes entered, followed by the rest of the American man and a small Japanese man behind him. Last to enter was a rather tall, friendly-looking Chinese man with oddly blue eyes. Crawford met Schuldich's eyes and inclined his head every so slightly. The latter smirked and took his seat.  
  
"Cloffordo-san, do you need to run this by your partners?" asked Haori. Crawford shook his head in the negative, and Schuldich couldn't help but roll his eyes at the expected answer.  
  
Haori-san was all smiles and excited quivering, rummaging around in his pockets for a pen so he could sign the papers Crawford held out to him.  
  
(Tough sell, eh?)  
  
(Farfarello will not be needed for this mission.)  
  
(Too bad. You know how he loves rich morons.)  
  
The taller man took the pen from his companion and signed his name below Haori-san's. As Crawford begin to sign his own name, Schuldich craned his head to see what the unknown man had written.  
  
Yim Kuai Le.  
  
Perhaps not Japanese after all.  
  
The redheaded German raised his eyes to look at Crawford, asking a silent question.  
  
(Dare ka?)  
  
Crawford simply stared back at him, choosing not to answer. Schuldich blew a sigh of irritation and waited for the men to close the deal. Haori-san shook Crawford's hand, and then the Chinese man did the same. Crawford signaled to Schuldich and the two assassins left the office.  
  
~*~*  
  
Buildings blurred together in Schuldich's gaze as the sleek black town car sped along the Tokyo streets. The ride from the office had been silent so far, with Crawford seeming pleased about this newest job and Schuldich just relieved to be out of the stuffy surroundings.  
  
After about 15 minutes, the 20-year old was once again bored. He fiddled with the a/c vents and adjusted his seat to lean back and then up again, repeating this action several times until Crawford was properly annoyed.  
  
"Must you do that while I'm driving?" Schuldich grinned impudently and put the seat back in its original position. "Yes."  
  
Crawford frowned slightly and made a U-vie, his good mood evaporating. "This is the last time I bring you to the business district."  
  
"I didn't want to come in the first place," Schuldich pointed out as he turned the a/c up. "Besides," he added, "you should have known beforehand that it would have taken so long."  
  
"I didn't see the second man coming into the deal at all. If he hadn't added his input, I would have won Haori over in three minutes."  
  
Schuldich reclined the chair and stared at the roof of the car for several minutes before voicing his question from earlier. "Who was he, anyways?"  
  
Left turn into the upper-class streets. "A foreign executive from Hong Kong; he was flown in for the party and the planning."  
  
"Why did he have so much to discuss?"  
  
Crawford lifted his eyebrow and parallel parked outside their apartment. "Because unlike Haori-san, Yim actually had scraps of intelligence."  
  
The front door of the apartment opened and a small brown head peeked out. Seeing the two older men, it whisked itself back inside and left the door ajar. Schuldich stepped inside the foyer and kicked off his shoes, flinging himself onto the couch and grabbing the t.v. remote. Crawford poured himself a drink from the cabinet and retreated inside his office, making sure to firmly shut and lock the door behind him.  
  
Footsteps on the staircase alerted Schuldich to the presence of a teenage boy behind him. The redhead nodded his head in greeting before turning his attention back to the old American movie playing out on the screen. The boy took a seat on the white couch opposite Schuldich.  
  
Naoe Nagi wasn't like his three teammates. With dark pixie features, he looked to be 10 years old when in fact he was already a legal Japanese citizen. Perhaps legal was the wrong term for the telekinetic youth, but he was indeed 18 years of age and the law didn't really matter for Nagi; by age 13 he had already killed, and by age 15 he was no more innocent than the most hardened criminal Tokyo had to offer. Crawford was good to him in his unique way, and Farfarello mostly left him alone, but Schuldich loved to single the boy out for teasing and amuse himself with Nagi's thoughts.  
  
Schuldich was easily amused. Nagi wasn't the only one to bear the German's mental torment, however, and usually his victims were those that he deemed most interesting to read. Burnt red hair offset his lazy green eyes, and he often drew stares when he went out into the public. Even amongst the brightly and unnaturally-colored youth of Japan's major cities, Schuldich was always the one to draw curious attention. His manner resembled that of a saturnine jungle cat; lean and languid with dangerous cunning and a lust for blood that almost matched the third and certainly most odd member of Schwartz:  
  
The giftless Farfarello. Albino pale with one gold eye and one covered by a black eyepatch, the scarred Irishman mainly kept to himself and his inane rantings of right and religion. His fellow teammates had him carefully ensconced in a straitjacket for the better part of the day, situated in a bloodstained cell with a handful of knives and a bolt-iron door. When his limbs were free and his mind was troubled, he spent hours inside that room, knicking away at his skin and watching the blood pour out with fascination. Easily the most dangerous of all four members, Farfarello gave an impression of insanity that could fool the most awarded psychologists and the best trained authorities.  
  
Together, with their American oracle Brad Crawford, these four young men made up the bodyguard cum assassin team Schwartz.  
  
Deadly in their gifts and experts at their jobs, they shielded power with illusion and gave new meaning to fear. On the pages of history, they are dark stains of life.  
  
This is their story. 


	2. Welcome to Rosenkreuz

Disclaimer: See prologue.  
  
Warnings: Language, minor sexual references.  
  
Author's Notes: Forgive me if this story begins slowly. If you catch any mistakes or glaring falsehoods, feel free to email me at tuesday_knickers@hotmail.com  
  
Stained Pages 1- Welcome to Rosenkreuz Ai Li  
  
  
  
Schuldich was red. Nagi was blue. Farfarello was.white. Not soft white, but the harsh white of hospital walls and new billboard signs. Clorox white, baby blue, traffic light red.  
  
Red was always first in his visions, always causing chaos in the apartment. Blue never needed surveillance, and white was usually stained with the pranks of red.  
  
They came to him in colours, these wayward killers. Headaches were red, blood was red, trouble was red. Pounding, pulsing, flashing, it was red he heard in the morning and red he found at night.  
  
Not always with him at night. Often, not always. Brad Crawford wasn't the affectionate type.  
  
In fact-  
  
He disapproved of romance. Every time he caught Nagi reading that shoujo manga, he would frown and inquire about his homework. If Nagi had completed all his homework, he found chores for the boy to complete.  
  
It's not that he hated it, per se, he just.strongly disliked its fanciful notions. Amorous stories were distractions.  
  
Distractions were something he could say he hated.  
  
Distractions and memories.  
  
Memories were always red.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
The sharp click of heels on tile alerted me to the neatly-groomed man making his way down the hall. A walking cane was thrust under his left arm, with the initials J. M. inscribed on the cap.  
  
Julius Mahler.  
  
Herr Mahler.  
  
Our fearless leader.  
  
The heels came to an abrupt halt and the squeak of his shoes was audible in the silent room. My glasses slipped a bit down my nose and I could see the new recruits standing in 5 rows of 7, 17 females on the left and 18 males on the right. Two men stood on either side of me, the 4th telekinesis instructor and the 4th telepathy instructor. Directly opposite us, against the far wall, stood the 3rd telekinesis instructor, the 3rd Council Aide, and the 3rd telepathy instructor. Mahler was flanked by the Council Empath and the Council Precog. The other instructors were not present since the strong majority of this new batch happened to be telepaths and telekinetics.  
  
I was the 4th Council Aide. Rumours spread around the school that I was being considered for the spot of Council Precog. They called me "Oracle." At recesses I was not welcomed into any room or dormitory but my own. Even there, I kept to my own room and made sure the door was locked. The Council favoured me, but they valued me for my gift alone. My body was only a vassal for their desired power. Who cared if I was bullied in the halls? Instructors molested me, older students beat me, and younger students taunted me rather than touched me because I was older and stronger and they feared a physical retaliation.  
  
Yes, I was one of the most hated Aides at Rosenkreuz. Yes, I hated everyone else. I didn't care for acceptance and friendship. Once I moved into a 5th level position, no one could touch me anymore. All I wanted was power.  
  
Within another year, it would be in my grasp.  
  
Mahler had power, though masked with mood swings and malice. He was now tapping the floor with the walking cane he used for emphasis rather than balance. Reprimands of the physical kinds, too. Solid gold capped the top of the polished mahogany, flashing in the bright light and daring any of the recruits to follow its flicker and take their eyes off our Council Leader. Not one of them stirred.  
  
Mahler was pleased, and the instructors could feel it. The telepathy instructor relaxed next to me and so did the aides across the room. I ignored them and watched the German precog address the assembly.  
  
"Guten morgen."  
  
The translators began their work.  
  
"Bonjour."  
  
"Buona mattina."  
  
"Bom dia."  
  
"Buenos dias."  
  
"Anyung ha sae ho."  
  
"Ni hao."  
  
"Konnichiwa."  
  
"Hello. Good morning." I lost count of the languages as each nationality of the 35 recruits was represented. Some translators chose to use formalities, others used a simple greeting. Mahler most often spoke in German, but I automatically switched it to English in my mind.  
  
"You have all been chosen by the Rosenkreuz Council. You are here because you each have a Talent that places you on a higher level than the average human. You are not uniquely special. However, all of you have a different awareness of your Talents. Your instructors will teach you how to use your Talents to the best of your abilities. You will work hard. You will follow a strict set of guidelines. At no point in time will you be monitored by cameras, but don't think that means we cannot see what you are doing. Hear what you are saying. Read what you are thinking."  
  
Here Mahler paused, and narrowed his eyes.  
  
"If you choose to disobey the guidelines, you will be punished. If you disagree with your instructor, you will keep your opinions to yourself. If you harm an instructor, you will be punished. If you harm a Council member or a Council Aide of the 5th level and above, you will be expelled."  
  
The word was left hanging in the air, heavy with ominous double entendre. Expulsion was self-explanatory. You either succeeded or you failed. Failures were not acceptable at Rosenkreuz. They were not permitted to leave and tell the world of these secrets. Expulsion was quick. Quiet. No failures were ever missed.  
  
"If you pass the final exams and make it to the 6th level, you will have automatic placement into a carefully constructed group. Some are graduated at lower levels because they are not capable of enhancing their Talent any further. Their jobs have less meaning and less importance. You will all strive for the 6th level and beyond."  
  
Your classmates are now your family. You do not belong in the world of mankind and it will be your job to balance out the tainted light with wholesome darkness. The order of society is unstable at best, and it will be your task to bend it in our favor. You are now no more than tools of a greater force. Greater than human law. Greater than religion. Greater than emotion and life itself."  
  
Silence. The recruits were nervous now, sweat visible on some of the smaller children.  
  
Mahler bared his teeth in an unpleasant smile.  
  
"Welcome to Rosenkreuz."  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
After they were sorted, the new students were placed in the dormitories corresponding with their talents. Rooms were assigned by age and gender. Troublemakers were assigned with older students.  
  
Two misfits had already been singled out by Aides. One was a finicky 7- year old girl who fought with her roommates upon learning that they were North Korean. She was placed in a room by herself. The other was a 15- year old redhead who had fallen ill the first night and could barely move on his own. He refused to cooperate with the doctors and bit the hand of a medical Aide. Since I was the most hated out of all the older students, the boy was placed with me.  
  
You can imagine my delight.  
  
It was already 8:30 in the evening of the third day, and the boy still hadn't moved from his bed. He was a German telepath, skinny and unkempt from years on the streets. He smelled of stale alcohol and cigarette smoke, yet I hadn't been brave enough to dump him in a bathtub until he woke from his stupor. He wasn't a quiet sleeper, either. Every few seconds he would thrash on the mattress and tangle himself up in the sheets. Bloody saliva coated his face, and I wondered how in the world he had gotten so sick already. None of the other recruits were even remotely ill, and he had been perfectly fine up until two hours after the introductory assembly.  
  
An Aide knocked on my door and shoved several white packets beneath the doorjam. Inside the packets I found 50 red pills and instructions to give him four of those twice a day for five days. On the morning of the sixth day, if he wasn't completely healed, he would be expelled and a new telepath would be found.  
  
5 days? Usually any defective recruits were dealt with immediately. The lenient ultimatum had to mean that the boy's Talent was powerful enough to catch the Council's attention.  
  
I looked at the slumbering boy and shook my head in disbelief. Warning flags were popping up left and right in my head, even though I had yet to experience any visions about this youth. I seriously doubted his value as a telepath, but I wasn't about to contest the Council's decision.  
  
Still.  
  
This boy looked like shit warmed over.  
  
The luminescent green numbers on the clock clicked to read 8:34. As if on cue, the boy moaned and kicked the nightstand, knocking the clock to the ground. Plastic shattered and the noise was enough to wake the boy. Green eyes snapped open and black pupils dilated to adjust to the light of my room. Panic set into his thin face and he leaped off the bed. I have to admit I was a little afraid. The redhead began babbling a stream of German of which I could only decipher 'mutti' and 'hast dich.'  
  
Then his eyes fell on me. I was backing up towards the door with my hands outstretched, ready to run if the need arose. Not the most graceful strategy, but the boy's appearance alone was enough motivation. He apparently had the same idea about exiting the room, and made a dash for the door with his foot still caught in a sheet.  
  
"Hey, slow down brat," I said as I blocked his escape. When he tried to move around me, I grabbed his arms. He struggled to free himself, cursing violently in a mixture of German and French.  
  
"Laissez-moi partir, baiseur! Lassen sie mich gehen! Fich dich! Laissez- moi partir!" (1)  
  
He continued to scream until I threw him against the wall. His back hit plaster and then he slid to the ground, struggling to get to his feet. I grabbed the collar of his t-shirt and hauled him up, shaking him a bit. He spat in my face and cursed again in French.  
  
"Arrêt. J'ai eu assez de ton insolence," I hissed at him. (2) That shut him up and his face showed surprise that I could speak his language. Granted, it was choppy from disuse and I couldn't remember the word for "insolence," but it was enough to silence the curses.  
  
"Fous le camp," he muttered sullenly, shrugging off the grip I had on his shirt. (3) I gave him a good backhand across the face before reverting to my mother tongue now that I had his attention.  
  
"Can you understand me?" I asked him. He nodded in reply and averted his gaze. "I don't really care who you are or why you're here, but I do mind the fact that you're absolutely filthy. Go into the bathroom and wash yourself up before you come back in here. I'll have Aides bring new bedding and burn the old one." I didn't smile as I said it, because I wasn't joking, and he didn't laugh as he stood, because he knew it too.  
  
He didn't reply with words, just turned away and shuffled into the bathroom, stripping his clothes off as he went. It was my turn to avert my eyes, and the sight of the ruined clock reminded me of the tasks I needed to do.  
  
Half an hour later, lower-level Aides had cleaned out the room and replaced the broken clock with a new one, as well as clearing away the dirty sheets and putting clean linen back onto the bed. The boy was still in the bathroom, and if it had not been for the sounds of splashing, I would have thought he had fallen asleep and drowned.  
  
I had just changed my shirt when he finally appeared, wreathed in a cloud of steam from the bath. His face wasn't so deathly pale anymore, and at least he didn't reek of waste. He had a towel wrapped around his waist, and I wordlessly pointed to a fresh pair of clothes on his bed. I sat at the desk and opened two textbooks, one for trig and one for geography and cartography. The room was silent for several minutes as the boy dressed himself and got acquainted with my Spartan furniture. All I had been given was the desk, the two beds, and a clock radio. The volume could never exceed anything that others could hear outside of your room. The walls were white, the floor was rough gray carpet, and the only reason I wasn't situated in a room with dirty linoleum was my status as a 5th level Aide. Any Aides under 5th were assigned regular tasks, mainly laundry, cleaning, and assistance in the medical wing if they were healers. I was lucky in that I was so young; a 17-year old precog in a 5th level Aide position was enough to exempt me from the grit work.  
  
"What time is it?" the boy asked, interrupting my thoughts. I rolled my eyes and gestured at the clock.  
  
"Can't read it."  
  
"What?" I turned around in my chair. "You can't read English, or you can't read at all?"  
  
The boy scowled at me. "The second one."  
  
I sighed and told him the time, watching as he promptly buried himself under the sheets until only his fiery head was visible. He stared back at me insolently, obviously daring me to make some comment about his illiteracy.  
  
I fidgeted uncomfortably and closed my books. "You'd better learn fast or the instructors won't bother wasting their time on you." There was no reply, so I continued. "If you fall behind in classes, you'll attract attention from Aides, and then the Council. The best way to survive in here is to stay as low-profile as you can. Unless you have great skills, the Council will leave you alone."  
  
The boy continued to ignore me, so I turned my back to him and looked at my notes. If he didn't want my help, I wasn't about to give him any more free advice.  
  
"I have great skill."  
  
I didn't look up. "I very much doubt that."  
  
"I can read your thoughts. Like a taroist reads cards."  
  
I tried focusing on my work. The boy was persistent.  
  
"They told me I could be very good. Better than you, I bet."  
  
By now, I was properly annoyed. I swiveled in my chair and fixed an impatient look on my face. "No one is better than me."  
  
He smirked and pushed the covers off. "See, I already know your weaknesses. You're arrogant and you have a right to be, but everyone hates you because you act like you're better than all of them. You're a precog, and your worst subject is history because you're only interested in future events. You're 17, but you'll be 18 in a week and three days."  
  
My mouth dropped open of its own accord and I instantly changed shock into anger, standing up from the desk with an accusatory finger pointed at the boy's face. "You have no business rummaging around-  
  
"Your mind is very closed, but you don't have enough focus yet to completely block everything and everyone. You can't cover up basic facts, but you're good at hiding details and memories." The boy looked smug, crossing bony arms in front of his chest. Instead of encouraging his ego, I sat down on my bed and tossed one of the white packets at him.  
  
"Take two of those now, and two again in the morning. Get well soon so they can reassign you and my room won't stink of a little German brat."  
  
He shook out two red pills and swallowed them dry, both at the same time. Then he looked at the little packet, looked at me, looked at the packet, and then back at me.  
  
"Two. Just.two."  
  
He grinned. "Gee, you must be a mind reader too."  
  
I rolled my eyes, reached over to flick off the lights, and pulled the covers over my head, hoping that when I woke in the morning, the annoying little boy would be gone, taking with him the pounding headache that loomed in the back of my head. If there were only two things I truly detest, they would have to be telepaths and children. Just my luck that a sniveling, cocky little urchin was situated five feet away from me.  
  
Sleep would be a long time coming tonight. 


End file.
